


Close Comfort

by Fuzzyface



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Sharing a Bed, jester is anxious and has feelings, sleepy introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzyface/pseuds/Fuzzyface
Summary: Things are different now that they're out of the water





	Close Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the M9's return from the ocean and their arrival at Felderwin

They don’t _need_ to share a bed. They’re not confined to the offerings of waterlogged one-person inn rooms, and they’re long past the point where they’re counting out each gold piece and wondering whether they’d rather eat or have a decent night’s rest. They don’t _need_ to, but when the dragonborn behind the counter drawls, “Single room, then?” Beau slaps the coin down without a word and Jester hardly even registers a difference when they stagger into the tiny space.

There’s no reason that the two of them cling together like kittens, the space between them on the mattress vanishing almost as soon as the lantern is blown out and they’re left with nothing but darkness and each other’s breathing. Jester knows it’s silly and a little embarrassing how desperately she curls her arms around Beau’s shoulders. But she also knows that it means something that Beau leans into her instead of trying to pull away.

It’s just because they’re finally back on land. Her legs ache with the phantom shifts of the ground and everything feels too busy, too loud after so long with nothing but endless blue and the same dozen faces every day for weeks. She needs something familiar, and there’s little more familiar to her now than the sharp angles of Beau’s silhouette in the dark.

She doesn’t miss the ocean - she might never miss it again for the rest of her life - but it’s not the same now that they’re on land. Once again she’s left with the aching realization that there’s nothing truly binding their little group. They don’t _need_ to stick together, not like they did when the alternative was pirates or a slow death at the bottom of the ocean.

Maybe she’s being silly - she’s probably being silly - but her heart leaps into her throat everytime Yasha glances at the horizon for a little too long. Everytime Caleb wanders off for a moment to peer through the windows of a storefront.

She’s not the only one. Fjord snapped at Nott when she drifted too far from their new cart, and the two of them spent a tense moment glaring at one another before they realized the ridiculousness of the situation. It should make her feel better, but it doesn’t. It just makes her think that she’s right.

If it were up to her, none of them would leave each other’s sides tonight. They’d push their bedrolls together and sleep in all but an actual pile, like they’d done plenty of times in the confines of Caleb’s bubble. But she knows that’s unreasonable, so she keeps her mouth shut as everyone gets their own rooms for the evenings - and yet Beau stays by her side.

Beau falls asleep before her, like she always does. She’s had years to get used to falling asleep in cramped and noisy quarters. And like she always does, within a few minutes she’s twitching and mumbling in her sleep. It’s never anything coherent, just breathy little sounds as her fists open and close harshly on the sheets. She’ll calm down soon, and then Jester will fall asleep too, and she won’t have to think about the burn in her chest just like Beau won’t have to think about whatever it is that makes her eyebrows scrunch together and her knees bump restlessly against Jester’s thighs.

But she has Beau in her arms now, not on the opposite end of the room, and she can’t ignore the tremors in the monk’s body when she can feel them in her own chest. She doesn’t quite know what the ‘right’ thing to do is, so she just does what she’s always wanted to when she hears Beau shifting restlessly in her bed. She squeezes her tighter to her chest, letting one hand drift up to stroke her loose hair. It’s thicker than she imagined, but just as soft.

Beau goes still, breath hitching slightly. She mumbles something that might be “sorry” or might be “go away”, it’s hard to tell. Jester has to fight back the panicked urge to roll over quickly and pretend to be fast asleep, but she’s pretty sure if she does Beau will take a horn to the eye, and then _both_ of them will be wide awake. So she just keeps petting Beau’s hair as soothingly as she can, and eventually her breathing evens out. She goes slack in Jester’s arms, breath hot against her skin now that they’re so close. Jester presses her nose to the top of Beau’s head and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Love you,” she mumbles into Beau’s hair, and she truly means it, even as she tries to ignore the fact that she’s mostly just achingly desperate to hear Beau say it back again. Beau shifts slightly against her, fingers twitching where they overlap Jester’s. She waits several heartbeats, not breathing, wondering if maybe she had actually heard. Beau snores softly.

Jester huffs a soft sigh against the top of Beau’s head, embarrassed relief prickling cold along her spine. She shifts carefully until her face is at the hollow at the base on Beau’s neck, so that all she can see is the steady rise and fall of the monk’s chest and the first snowflakes of the season whipping by outside the window. Beau sleeps soundly through the night, and Jester barely sleeps at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at fuzzy-face.tumblr.com


End file.
